


Only Ever in Dreams

by comeonharry (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Dreamscapes, M/M, Multi, Past Gigi/Zayn, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Build, a side serving of Louis/Eleanor, unconventional "and they were roommates"
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 18:10:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11560605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/comeonharry
Summary: Four hard-working, soul-searching guys looking for a fifth roommate. Rent is fucking expensive. Call the number below for details.





	Only Ever in Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> An AU inspired by Inception, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and Paprika.

The sun in all its melting, bright glory peeks through the clouds. Zayn shields his eyes and looks to his left. Again, the man in the coat extends his hand. 

"Are you coming?"

He doesn't possess a real voice. The words blow into Zayn's mind like dust. He nods, and the man flickers until he disappears. In the split second of a blink, the world folds open anew, a gust of wind teeming with spears of sand when his eyes open. He struggles with his steps, now trying to walk alongside the man as they trek across expansive, empty sand dunes. Awed, Zayn takes in the rolling vista--the orange waves and even redder sky blending together like messy watercolors. This place possesses the quality of the default sand dune background of his childhood desktop. The ground starts to slip beneath them very suddenly, but the man continues as if nothing has happened. Terrified, Zayn yells out, but his voice doesn't exist either. He falls.

"Zayn!"

Gigi looms over him, her long arms forming triangles against her slender silhouette. She huffs when Zayn doesn't get up and grabs him by the shoulders to shake him back into the physical world. 

"I'm up, I'm up." He wrigglesout of her grasp, rubbing at his eyes before looking around. Right. His things, haphazardly shoved into trash bags and the one suitcase he owns, taunt him beside the front door. 

"It's time to go." She says this quietly as she tucks her billowy, blonde hair behind her ear. "I'll help carry your things down to the car."

"I can still call an Uber," he offers. 

"Let me do this." That means "this" is more for her than him, and Zayn can't really argue with that. Honestly, he'd rather not pay forty dollars to drive across town though he'd prepared himself for the loss.

The hum of the highway behind the apartment complex and the surrounding chirping birds that haven't yet migrated south evoke a nostalgic ache in Zayn's chest as they carry his belongings down to Gigi's car. Two years of tripping up these concrete steps, dropping cigarettes between the spaces and hanging off the metal rails all leading up to _this_ instead of a newly renovated home with the rescue dog they'd find at the shelter down the road. 

In the car Gigi asks, "Do you want the aux cord?"

Zayn glances over at Gigi as he buckles his seatbelt. She smiles encouragingly, as this opportunity comes once in a lifetime, but Zayn declines. His phone sits dead in his pocket because he'd forgotten, amidst eavesdropping on Gigi's mysterious midnight phone call, to put it on the charger. Mostly though, the entire situation and Gigi's undeserved chipper demeanor have kicked him into a grouchy corner.

"You're loss" Gigi plays her favorite playlist: Sucking the Suck. Her and Zayn had compiled it together one night after smoking so much weed that Zayn fell asleep during a blowjob. Gigi sings along loudly, her long fingers tapping across the top of the steering wheel. Perhaps she forgot she called Zayn a "lazy asshole" last night before slamming her bedroom door, leaving him on the couch without a blanket. 

Songs shuffle through the car, bringing bittersweet memories to the forefront of Zayn's mind. Gigi must feel the same. A dark, encompassing ridge between their armrests opens so wide and desolate that the shrill cry of _I Believe in a Thing Called Love_ echoes uselessly between them. For whatever reason, Gigi sighs. Zayn resolutely shoves his hands under his thighs and tries not to return his own breath of wallowing disappointment.

"You know, considering the circumstances, I should be the one sulking and pouting," Gigi comments, casual and calm like she isn't prodding at an open, festering wound.

"Then sulk and pout if that's what you think you should do."

"All I'm _saying_ is that it's kind of ridiculous for you to be miserable about this when it was your decision."

Zayn inhales, long and slow before pressing his forehead against the window. The chill of it numbs the heat festering beneath his quiet demeanor. Sure, Zayn suggested a break after weeks of Gigi passively commenting about the status of his life. It was Gigi's decision after that to accuse Zayn of feeling insecure about their month-old threesome adventure and then to kick him out last night when she came home to him smoking a joint _as usual_ she had sneered. He wasn't due to move out for another three weeks.

"Did you let Louis know you're on your way?"

Zayn nods. He told him last night when he'd arrive.

"Are they going to make you pay this month's rent?"

Zayn shrugs. Louis had already talked with the others and decided that, no, considering the nature of the situation, he wouldn't have to pay in full just yet. That's none of Gigi's business. If she worries about it later Zayn will absolutely not feel good about it at all. Definitely not.

Halfway through the playlist and across town, Zayn's stomach rumbles. Zayn looks over at Gigi, but her eyes remain too still and focused on the road. A couple streetlights later, his stomach protests again. It doesn't seem to care about the current emotional, volatile state of the car. 

"Can you stop at a McDonald's?"

"Seriously? Do you even have any money?"

Zayn digs around in his pocket. He finds a wrinkly, torn five dollar bill and three quarters.

"I don't know why I'm even being nice to you," Gigi mutters, an exaggerated sniffle escaping her. 

The suburbs are littered with McDonald's, thankfully, so they don't veer too far off course. Gigi pulls into the drive-thru slowly, keeping the window rolled up even as the lady in the speaker drones, "Hi, would you like to try our classic McRib sandwich today?"

"Do you want the usual?" She asks Zayn.

"Yeah."

" _Hello?_ " The lady in the speaker shouts. 

"Three hash browns? That's it?" Gigi looks at Zayn expectantly.

"Right."

Gigi finally rolls down the window. "Sorry ma'am! Can I get three hash browns?"

"Anything else today?"

"No, that's it!"

As the first window comes into view from around the blunt, awkward turn around the corner of the building, Zayn thinks about how dry his mouth will feel after inhaling three hash browns. "Can you add a coffee?"

Zayn notices her knuckles turn white as she rattles the steering wheel, clearly imagining it's his neck. "I fucking hate when you do this and you know it," she seethes.

"I'm sorry I changed my mind? It happens." 

"You're being a dick on purpose."

"I'm not!" 

"Yes, you are! You fucking are and _as usual_ you never own up to it."

Gigi doesn't speak to Zayn after that. She basically throws the bag of hash browns at him which he struggles to catch. Two hash browns in, Gigi parks the car against the curb of a yellow, wooden house surrounded by weeds and tall grass. "Don't forget your stuff in the glove box."

Zayn rummages through a stack of Raising Cane's napkins, a car manual, a lip gloss tube and a random picture strip they had done at a carnival months ago to get one of his beanies and his small, but highly important collection of CDs. He shoves the two into the backpack sitting on the floorboard before slinging it onto his back. Gigi doesn't move to help him get the three trash bags from the back seat or the suitcase from the trunk. She watches him throw everything onto the cracked sidewalk, her pretty eyes miraculously glassy and sad. It's like none of the bickering even happened--a figment of Zayn's guilty imagination.

"Thanks for the ride. You can have my last hash brown," Zayn says kindly before shutting the passenger door. The incidental slam of it hits the morning air wrong like he did take an Uber after all, and that shatters Gigi's mask. After endless days of tearing into each other, an angry kiss that should have lead to makeup sex, but instead earned Zayn a slap so harsh _he_ cried, and searching desperately for a place to go as he started gathering his things, Gigi never flinched. Zayn's heart aches for a split second, sending a fervent urge through him to climb back into the car and kiss away her tears. A bigger part of him, the one he listens to, feels relieved to witness it.

The front door of Zayn's new home swings open then, and Louis, the man he'd met a couple days ago, comes prancing down the steps. He shouts a greeting at Zayn, oblivious and happy like he should be. Zayn turns away from Gigi long enough to wave back to him. The sudden engine rev startles him, and he looks back in time to see Gigi's car pull away from the curb. 

"Hey, Zayn! How are- God, you look miserable. Was the Uber that expensive? My condolences to your bank account."

Louis helps Zayn haul everything up the creaky steps leading up the wraparound porch. Zayn's new room, thankfully right next to the front door, has a bay window that makes up for the small space and matted, shaggy carpet. They stand together, near-strangers taking in the only things Zayn owns and the dated, striped wallpaper.

"Don't have any furniture, do you?"

"No," he admits sheepishly. Zayn went from his parent's house to Gigi's, and though he accumulated knickknacks and decorations, he'd never bought any furniture. Gigi already had the apartment furnished just the way she liked.

"Well, when you have the extra funds I'm sure Harry would love to take you to IKEA. He has a truck, so you won't have to pay for delivery."

"Harry?"

Louis shakes his head. "One of the other roommates. None of them are here currently otherwise we'd all have a nice chat around the-." He stops mid-sentence to consider Zayn thoughtfully, his head cocked to the right and eyes narrowed. "You do smoke the green, don't you?"

Zayn smirks. "Doesn't everyone and their mothers at this point?"

"Perfect! As I was saying, once everyone is home we'll sit around the bong and get acquainted, okay?"

Zayn nods.

"Cool. Do you need help unpacking or anything?"

"Uh, maybe not right now. I don't know where I'd put anything."

"Right! That makes perfect sense, sorry. I'm going to play some FIFA. Do you want to join?"

Zayn agrees despite the hollow, nauseous feeling in his stomach -- the one of indescribable discomfort that makes him want to shrivel up like a grape in the sun. A large, boxy TV perched precariously on cinder blocks and an eccentric option of seating surrounding, make up the small living room. It's a small, secluded cove adjacent to the kitchen and dining room that radiates an eery, blood red vibe thanks to the chili-shaped lights scalloping across the top of the glass, sliding doors showcasing the rather bare backyard. 

"That's all Harry," Louis explains when he follows Zayn's gaze. "He has a penchant for moody lighting."

The game serves as a pleasant distraction, but Zayn fails to focus. Mostly because every time they lap into silence save for the virtual sea of dots cheering on the TV, Louis randomly throws questions at Zayn. _Do you have five toes or six? Is your mom a MILF, Zayn? Be honest, I won't judge. Do you like cold pizza?_ and so on. Each question catches Zayn off guard, and Louis ends up winning the first game. 

Zayn realizes Louis' sneaky intentions then. Zayn's shoulders, which had involuntary been locked up right under his ears, finally relax. He's in good company, and he can't let Louis think that he's shitty at this game. No, he'd spent too much time playing with Ant for this to be the case. They play six games after Louis' first win because Louis insists after each subsequent loss that he'll come back and wipe the field with Zayn's virtual remains. When Zayn wins yet again, Louis throws the controller on the floor. 

"I don't think this is going to work out," Louis says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"I'll let you win next time."

Louis gasps. "How dare you undermine me like that. I will literally fight you if you ever let me win. Don't ever forget that."

"Noted. Anything else I should know to avoid such catastrophes?"

Louis hums, scratching at his chin while he thinks. "Don't eat my pizza rolls. Ever. I don't care how bad your munchies are. Oh! And don't leave a water trail after you shower. Liam does that _all_ the time. I've nearly busted my ass way too many times, and he's only been here a month!"

"Wait," Zayn rushes, acting like he's about to get up from the couch, "let me get a pen and paper so I can write this all down in case I forget!"

Louis smacks at him. "You're a dick! I like it."

Zayn playfully wipes at his forehead. "Whew. I was afraid I'd be a decent human being and you'd hate me."

The first of the other roommates comes in an hour later in the middle of Louis and Zayn chain smoking out on the back patio. A guy with a soft kind of face and bushy eyebrows peeks his head out the door with a smile. 

"Hey! Are you the new roommate?"

"Yes," Zayn answers. "My name's Zayn."

"Liam," Liam says, stepping out to shake Zayn's hand firmly. He pulls up one of the other chairs and plops down. Louis hands him a cigarette. "Thank you. Can I rant to you guys for a moment?"

"I can do a cigarette, but now you're just asking for too much," Louis gripes with an eye roll.

Liam barrels on like he didn't hear Louis. Zayn gets the feeling that happens often. "You remember Kimmy?"

Louis leans over to Zayn. "Kimmy has been flirting with Liam over a cubicle wall for weeks."

"Yeah, well, I went to the car wash today. I've been meaning to wash it for ages, and I finally had the motivation this morning. Guess who I saw manually washing their car with another man?"

Louis gasps for effect. "Not Kimmy!"

"Kimmy!" Liam wails.

"It could have been anyone," Zayn says. "A brother or uncle or friend?"

"I don't know. They were washing the car together and she was laughing as they sprayed each other with the hoses..." Liam looks off into the distance, puffing out a huge smoke cloud like a forlorn, divorced dad.

"That's all the proof he needs. The hoses were their metaphorical genitalia," Louis surmises conspiratorially.

"I got her number yesterday. I was going to ask her out today, but now I just can't. I feel like an idiot."

"No, don't think like that. Act like you saw nothing because you did see nothing. Just ask her out and see what happens," Zayn says. 

Louis dramatically jumps up, planting one foot on the concrete fire pit in the middle of their lawn chair fortress. "Zayn is right," he proclaims, "Go for the girl full speed ahead! If the guy is a potential interest then fight for her heart."

Liam continues to pout. "This isn't a fucking romcom you guys."

"Nonsense! Remember the cardinal law: WWHD?" Louis knocks Liam's cigarette right out of his hands. "Go call her now. Do it!"

"But Louis, I-"

"You know what happens when you defy me, Liam."

Liam hesitates for a second before he schools his face and nods. "Okay. Okay, okay. You're right. I'll be back."

Once Liam is back in the house, Louis grabs Liam's offended cigarette off the ground, putting it between his lips along his own nearly dead one like it was his plan all along.

"Impressive," Zayn comments. "What's WWHD?"

Louis bows. "It means What would Harry do, and thank you. I'll be here all week. So, what were we talking about before we were rudely interrupted?"

"Uh, I don't know."

"You're useless, but so am I."

Louis, with his two cigarettes and dirty feet propped up on an empty lawn chair to his left, looks at Zayn. Really looks at him. Zayn tries not to squirm, rivaling him with a raised brow. A car horn blares obnoxiously from the street. The trees bustle restlessly, and an eon seems to slip between them. 

"You wanna know about the other two roomies?" Louis asks, breaking away from his silent interrogation to ash his cigarettes.

"Anything you think I should know."

"I knew you would say that."

Zayn laughs. "Did you?"

"I did."

"Is this a test?"

"What kind of fucked up test would this be? Yes, it's a test. Also, I'm not as smart as I look so don't overestimate me."

Zayn nods like this is a very serious matter as Louis folds his legs under himself. 

"So, you've met Liam. Great guy, but he's spent way too much time with his older sisters. There's also Niall who likes beer and a good game. You don't have to worry about him. At least I don't think. Then, there's Harry. I knew him prior to moving in. He's, for lack of a better word, annoying."

"How do you know him?"

"School. We were table buddies in Human Sexuality. The rest is history."

"Or so they say."

Louis wags his finger at Zayn. "Or so they say. Anyways, yeah, I love Harry, honestly, but the guy is on a whole other planet. He'll say it's because he's an Aquarius, but." Louis rolls his index finger in a circle next to his ear.

The glass door leading to the patio slides open again, Liam reclaiming his seat with a delighted expression. "I'd say it went pretty well."

"Give us the details, you savage man!" Louis yells.

"She said she's busy this week, but that next week she may have some time." Zayn and Louis both stare at him blankly. "She said she'll call me before then to set something up."

"God, why do you look so happy?"

"What? What do you mean?"

Louis scoffs, waving Liam away. "You had one job."

Zayn, taking pity on Liam, tries to explain. "If a girl is 'busy' she isn't actually busy. You basically threw the ball in her court. She can dunk on you, and you can't do anything about it because you're 5'2 with even shorter arms."

Liam frowns. "I get it. I think."

"The only solution is to make her want your dick so bad her schedule miraculously clears up," Louis says.

Louis backs this up with extensive stories about himself, Harry and a friend from high school who all went after unattainable girls, and with a little flirting and conviction, miraculously managed to fit into the girl's "hectic, unmanageable" schedule effortlessly. This convinces no one of his dating expertise, but Liam promises to follow his advice. 

The first two weeks After Gigi follow exactly this way: Louis' hilarious commentary, the other boys' varying reactions to him, and the ghostlike presence of Zayn. During the day he goes to work to bend over backwards for old, white couples and joke with young, diverse families and in the evenings he joins whoever is home around fire pit for sticky, burnt marshmallows and blunts. Occasionally, Zayn helps Niall with the construction of his shack in the backyard and because he's a Good Samaritan, he eats the gluten free cake balls Harry brings home, only to spat the thick, dry globs of misery into the trashcan when Harry isn't looking. Everything from laughing to brushing his teeth to tossing in bed like a fish out of water to crying before breakfast to crying and then chain smoking _for_ breakfast aches in a similar way that going to school every day with no friends did back in middle school. 

One night, Harry gives Zayn a "bath cocktail" as he called it. Zayn threw the sticky, colorful blob into the tub and watched as it transformed magnificently from purple to pink to blue and then, depressingly, gray. The water went cold against Zayn's skin too soon, but he stayed immersed in the slick feel of it, mechanically scrolling through his text thread with Gigi.

A restless and insistent suffering has taken a liking to Zayn. It possesses him and forces him to prune in a bathtub at midnight for hours, and it especially enjoys reminding Zayn of the monotony of his life. The worst of it, the part Zayn hates the most, is the tainting of even the most rosy memories of Gigi until they're withered and dirty at the edges. Their text thread doesn't even bring solace, as he first has to pass all the angry texts they sent each other towards the end. Even when he's with the boys, his mind divulges away to obsess over all the projects he picked up and then threw away over the years, the opportunities and experiences he shot down to cultivate a pseudo-enthralling life with someone he no longer loves. 

Each morning he watches the world outside his bay window, asking the sun, the grass, the stars when it'll be his turn to live. Everyday, the sun comes and goes, Zayn sinking further into the quicksand of each meandering, indifferent day, he asks them—the sun, the grass, the stars—why they never showed him this truth before. 

-

It's a typical Wednesday in the household. Everyone has the day off, so they're all piled in the living room. Zayn occupies the middle cushion of the couch, Louis and Harry sat on either side of him, engrossed in the documentary on the TV. Niall has the bong at the moment, bubbling loudly and carelessly as he inhales his hit in the recliner. Liam texts on his phone, probably romancing Kimmy who has finally agreed to hangout on Friday, curled up like a puppy on the lumpy beanbag Louis' had since playground days. 

Still, Zayn manages to despair despite the warm glow of the room that constantly echoes the warm, companionable energy of his roommates. He can't shake the feeling of tears on his cheeks, and he can't stop checking Liam's behavior for signs of discomfort or judgement towards him as if he might have heard him crying since they're room neighbors. The higher he gets, the more he loses his thoughts as they warp away from the living room entirely. 

He remembers sitting on Gigi's bed before it became their bed and then her bed again. He had leaned forward to see her in the bathroom, brushing her hair back with her fingers. She felt his hungry stare, glancing over her shoulder to stick her tongue out at him. 

"Come here," he beckoned, his own fingers itching to touch her hair, her skin.

She didn't make him wait, her long legs bounding across the carpet in her Yoda slippers she stole from him two years ago. She climbed onto the bed and then over him easily, the weight of her so familiar he couldn't believe he went without her for four useless and expensive months. His hands stabilized her at the hips, squeezing as she stole quick kisses from his lips. Her hair curtained beside them, golden waves of silk tickling his neck. He went to gather and sweep it over her back, but she pulled away. Not unkindly, as she searched his face.

"Babe?" He questioned. 

"I didn't want to ask, but it's really bugging me," she blurted, "Not whatever the answer may be, but the not knowing."

Zayn tried not to frown. "What is it?"

She huffed and then asked, "Were you with anyone else?"

"Like one girl," he answered immediately. In actuality, one girl was several girls. Like ten. And two were at the same time. Maybe more, if Zayn were to sit down and really recount every encounter.

Gigi bit her lip before grinning, filthy and sweet. "Me too. I kissed a girl and I liked it, so she fingered me in the bathroom."

"Did you like the taste of her cherry chapstick?"

Gigi's rounded brows hiked up comically before she swatted at Zayn. He ducked between giggles, melting beneath her when she relented long enough to kiss him quiet, mumbling in between about her hatred of Katy Perry. 

"-so when would you like to go?" Harry's shoulder nudges into Zayn's. Zayn looks over, realizing he's meant to answer, but he gets lost really looking at Harry like how Louis really looked at him that first day. Harry's soft, green eyes peering back with an undefined question. A veil, lifted or torn away, makes Harry look so real so abruptly and maybe that's why Zayn can't look away. Zayn can see the pores around his nose, the width of his nostrils, the bow of his supple top lip and the short, light brown hairs sprouting above the bow of his mouth so humbly.

"Go where?"

Harry gets a funny look on his face that makes Zayn focus on the TV again. "IKEA."

"Yeah, I don't know. I need to scrape together some funds first."

"Be quick with it, yeah? I've been wanting to go to IKEA for ages."

"Me too. Now hush," Liam demands in a totally unthreatening way.

"Liam," Louis crows indignantly, "you haven't even been present for most of the fucking film. How dare you demand anyone to hush!"

Later in the evening, they head to Louis and Harry's signature bar, Lucky Joe's. It's a shitty, messy pizza bar with even shittier karaoke on Friday's, but on Wednesday's margaritas are only three dollars and the trip, by foot thanks to Liam, is only seven minutes. Liam has a serious, serious thing about drinking and driving though Zayn has learned that Louis drinks and drives more often than not. The last two Wednesdays, only Niall, Liam, and Zayn went for drinks as Harry had been called in to work both times and Louis had girlfriend duties to attend to. The sidewalk, immensely small for their ambling, high strides, forces them single file aside from Harry who keeps in stride with Zayn at the back of the pack. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" Harry asks, nudging against Zayn when he doesn't speak. 

Zayn's thoughts: _I wish I could just lay down, but I feel like if I don't do this then I'm missing out on a key bonding experience, but God, do I want to just close my eyes_. Instead, Zayn holds out his hand.

Harry quirks his head, his brows coming together in a grand display of confusion. It clicks eventually; he snorts and reaches into his pocket. He places a penny in Zayn's hand with a triumphant "Ha!"

"Touché," Zayn says, shoving the penny in his back pocket. "Dreams. I'm thinking about dreams."

"The sleep kind or the, um, the ambitious kind?"

Zayn smirks at that. "The sleep kind."

"What about them if I may ask?"

Zayn holds out his hand again. "Your curiosity costs you."

Harry bites his lip in the midst of a smile, looking like he's in pain. "You drive a hard bargain." He magically procures another penny.

"Where do we go when we dream and can we get there without sleeping."

Harry hums in response, folding his hands behind his back as he walks. He appears to be in deep thought. Zayn allows him time. When Harry doesn't speak after the appropriate waiting period, Zayn gives him a two-take. Harry notices with a smile, holding his hand out for Zayn. 

"A penny for my response. I know you want it."

Zayn frowns. "Maybe I don't."

"That's fine," Harry says, turning away and pretending to admire the streetlights.

Zayn refuses to give in even as his mind works a mile a minute. _What could Harry possibly say that would be interesting anyway? Probably nothing. Maybe this is all a dream—like a dream. It sure feels like one. A nightmare actually. One of those where you're running from someone, but you're actually on a treadmill and wait, you're running after someone. They're leaving you behind, you realize, and you think the sound leaving your throats could break glass, but it meets the air silently. So achingly silent it suddenly feels like you're falling and then, thankfully, you wake up._

As per tradition of the house before Zayn arrived, they down three rounds of margaritas within an hour and a half. Deran, the lovely and generous bartender that he is, slipped Zayn an extra shot in his last margarita, so the room slips and shimmers by the time they head over to the pool table. Louis and Niall suit up to play, drunkenly shouting and ribbing at each other while Liam tries to get them to play by the rules. 

Zayn doesn't even realize his fingers tapping along the edge of the table until Louis traps them underneath his hand. "Hey, dreamy boy, I'm going to need you to move your ass for this one."

Giggling, Zayn, with his melting margarita, slinks to the side of the large room where Harry stands talking talk to a small, pretty girl with a flamingo patterned scarf wrapped around her torso whom Zayn saw last week in the same spot with another guy. Her eyes immediately flick over to him as Harry continues to drawl in a deep, unnavigable way until the girl interrupts him. "Who's your friend?"

Surprised, Harry glances at Zayn, his eyes bleary and wide. "Oh, this is, um, Zayn, my roommate. Zayn, this is Aki."

"Nice to meet you," Zayn says, extending his hand for a proper shake. An unwelcome, uncomfortable sensation crawls up his pant leg and settles over his stomach as their hands connect in front of Harry. 

When no one goes to speak, Aki tucks her heavy, raven hair behind one ear. Girls do it all the time, but Zayn immediately thinks of Gigi and wants, fervently, to lay down again. "Harry was just telling me about the time he spent in Nicaragua last summer. It must have been incredibly fulfilling to work with all those kids to create such an amazing film."

"Oh, yeah," Zayn says although he knows nothing about Harry's heroic ventures down south. "That's Harry! He's incredibly selfless like that, but he gives himself to causes that'll inspire people, yeah? Just the other day he gave me some weird water bomb thing, and I bathed myself for the first time in weeks."

Aki laughs really hard at that, her skinny fingers gravitating towards her hair again. "You're kidding, right? I mean, I get the whole 'I'm a brooding guy who showers irregularly', but you can't go for weeks!"

Zayn shrugs, "I don't know. I'm pretty dedicated to something once I get started."

"That's an admirable quality to have, though highly misdirected in your case."

Harry shuffles beside them, pulling Zayn out of his inebriated state long enough to recognize the situation. He smiles politely at Aki, who hasn't looked at Harry since Zayn accidentally fell into the exchange. "If you'll excuse me, I think it's time for another drink."

Deran waits for him at the bar, smiling and leaning against the counter with his arms like support beams. "I saw that hot mess just occur. God damn!"

"That's why I got out of there," Zayn confesses, clumsily climbing onto the nearest stool. 

"That girl, Akon or something, had her eyes on you like a hawk last time you were here. Remember?"

Zayn shrugs, his go-to for anything and everything. Aside from noticing the shiny, scaly top she wore before, Zayn can only recall playing pool with Niall and then smoking outside with Liam in the courtyard out back when Niall left him to talk to a couple other guys. 

"Harry usually gets anyone to leave with him," Deran says, sounding oddly wistful, "but he's out of luck tonight. She wants you."

Zayn's eyes gravitate back to where he just awkwardly stood, but Aki has relocated to a table, completing an eclectic trio of pretty girls. Harry stands at the pool table now, pulling at his lip, mindless and quiet. 

"Hey, don't worry about it too much." Deran's hand cups Zayn's shoulder.

Twisting back around, Zayn shakes his head as Deran's hand falls away. "I'm not."

"Well, something's on your mind. Want another shot?"

"I'm good," Zayn says, feeling like Deran just wants to run up his tab at this point.

Deran scratches his scruff, peering past Zayn for a moment. "What made you move in with the boys?"

Zayn tells him exactly what he told "the boys", his lease ended. Deran smirks then, and Zayn begins tapping his feet against the metal bar running along the lower wall of the counter. 

"Yeah? You live by yourself?"

"With a friend."

"What kind of friend?"

"You're really fucking nosy even for a bartender," Zayn snaps.

Deran holds up his hands, a surrender. "Just trying to make conversation."

"Maybe I don't wanna talk." 

Zayn hides in the bathroom after that. Guilty that he acted so rude, but mostly because he should have eaten something before he came seeing as he cannot for the life of him walk in a straight line. In the shelter of one of the stalls, he looks through his photos, pictures of Gigi littered throughout. He wishes he'd be going home to her tonight. She would brush his hair out of his face and kiss his nose, then his lips and cuddle with him until he fell asleep. 

Maybe thirty minutes later, Zayn goes back out to find the boys, who are all ready to leave. The walk home is fun. It's the best part of the night. Zayn has Niall draped on his shoulders as he tries very, very hard to at least walk slightly normal. It proves difficult because Liam stops and starts in front of them, causing Zayn to fumble with his breathing cargo as they teeter this way and then that way. 

"We should go to a club honestly," Louis slurs up ahead, zigzagging a path back to the house. 

"I agree. Maybe I can find a girl there not interested in Zayn," Harry lilts, tossing a look back at Zayn. 

Zayn shrugs which makes Niall groan into his ear. "Stop jostling me," he pleads.

"To be fair, there weren't a lot of options," Liam adds.

"You all sound so miserable. Luckily for me, Eleanor is coming over," Louis announces, smug and absolutely glowing. 

They all groan simultaneously, but Zayn wonders if the rest of them palm themselves in bed as Louis' silky moans leak through the walls, echoing Eleanor's breathy pants. Maybe they don't or at least not anymore, but Zayn doesn't know Louis—or any of them—enough to ignore the entertainment. More than anything, he misses Gigi. When he first met Eleanor, her ginger features mimicked Gigi's and when Eleanor pet Louis' head absently out on the patio, whispering "my favorite boy" into the feathery wisps of his hair, he couldn't look away. 

A force knocks into Zayn, Niall pulling away with a grumble. "Oops," Harry giggles, his crinkly eyes meeting Zayn's, "a bit drunk I am."

"Yeah, we all are, but you don't see me bulldozing into people."

"It was meant to be a nudge," Harry mutters defensively. 

"I'm not thinking about anything if your about to wager for a slice of my mind."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely positive."

"Hmm," hums Harry, loping sloppily as he eyes Zayn instead of the path of his clunky feet. He grabs Zayn by the neck, reeling in close instead of pulling Zayn in. "Want to get into some trouble tonight?"

"Me?"

"No, Niall over there." Niall who now clings onto Liam, head folded into his back with his arms tied around like a posh sweater. 

"What do you want to do?"

"Aki invited us back to her place," he practically purrs.

Zayn turns his head instinctually to give him a "what the fuck" kind of look, but Harry leans forward at the same time, lips working around a "what" of his own. Their noses bump in greeting, and Harry reels back so violently he loses his footing. Zayn catches his arm before Harry's face meets the ground, hauling him back on his feet with a vice grip.

"Did you," Harry says between cackling, "did you just try to kiss me without buying me dinner first?"

"As if. You're not my type," Zayn retorts, still holding onto Harry like he may evade him or proper standing at a moment's notice.

"There are no types. Only reservations and prejudices."

"Absolutely false."

"Let me guess," Harry says, bending his arm to latch onto Zayn's in return. "You like 'em tall with pretty eyes?"

"Stop talking about me behind my back," Louis interjects. Niall snorts, mumbling something like _come on, at 5'8 you are not tall_.

"Female, too," Zayn presses, suddenly feeling cagey.

"Reservation or prejudice?"

"Preference," Zayn corrects, separating himself from Harry entirely. "Maybe I should just call it a night."

"I'll let Aki know you'll see her next time," Harry says, firm. He breaks from the group then, "I've actually been propositioned tonight! Get home safe, boys!"

"You dirty scoundrel," Louis cries as Harry veers down Foxglove Road, the blank, blue light of his phone leading in the darkness. 

Zayn sighs to himself, thankful for the silence. He shoves his hands into his pocket to ground himself in the momentum of his working legs. Inside the confines of his pockets, Harry's pennies greet him, warm from leeched heat. 

Harry comes home around seven the next morning. Zayn knows because he sits high in the bathtub, lacking bubbles and color and water all together, rewatching Gigi's Snapchat story. The first sequence shows her pouty, face complimented with the dog filter, her head bopping back and forth to a song he showed her last summer. The next, a picture of her with Alice, their bodies rolling together in front of a cheap full body mirror. Lastly, a guy with rugged, long haired lumberjack shies away from the camera, while Gigi coos, "babe!" 

The doorknob rattles, an earthquake of distress that shakes Zayn's phone from his hands. It cracks loudly against the plastic walls of the tub. 

"Alright?" Harry calls, muffled by door.

"'M fine," Zayn mutters. 

Harry's face floats right outside the door when Zayn tries to exit the bathroom. Harry doesn't move, the curious wave of his mouth curling up on one side. "Hey."

"How was it?" Zayn inquires tentatively. 

"It was great, but it would've been better if you were there," he says with a wink. 

So panicky and fickle, Zayn's heart pounds in his chest like an erratic, terrifying fire alarm. "Seriously, fuck off."

"I'm joking," Harry says.

"And I'm not gay," Zayn insists anyways.

"If I'm joking and you're not gay, then who's flying the plane?" 

Zayn rolls his eyes very, very dramatically like Louis does when anyone suggests he do anything really. "I would like to go back to bed, Harry. If you wouldn't mind getting out of my way."

Harry raises one of those long eyebrows of his as he leans against the door frame. "Yeah? Seems like you've not been to bed at all," he notes, his fingers tracing the lapel of Zayn's leather jacket.

"I went straight to my bed the moment I got in the door."

"I believe you."

"I don't care if you believe me." Zayn pushes Harry aside to rush down the hall towards his room. Harry follows after him. "I don't remember inviting you."

"Aki mentioned, after our heated, drunken passion, that her dad is conducting clinical trials for some new psychotherapy practice. It pays well."

"Yeah? I bet it pays well to compensate for however it may fuck you up."

"3.5k, Zayn. You could do a lot with that. You could easily afford an IKEA trip then."

"Thanks. I'll think on it," Zayn lies, reaching his bedroom door and closing it in Harry's face. 

"Goodnight, Zayn." Harry calls through the wood, his voice a sickly-sweet lullaby that echoes in Zayn's head until he falls asleep. 

In the darkness of unconsciousness, Zayn walks with the man in the coat again.


End file.
